


Night Fever

by Antosha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Disco, F/F, Femslash, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Post-Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23948524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antosha/pseuds/Antosha
Summary: "As Petunia tried delicately to reapply her mascara, the pounding of the bass shook the bathroom mirror, causing her reflection to blur slightly. 'Bloody music,' she muttered." Petunia finds a small piece of joy. But at a price. (Written pre-HBP)
Relationships: Petunia Evans Dursley/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Kudos: 6





	Night Fever

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a challenge for a long-lost femslash archive; the prompt was "Petunia/Narcissa, in the Marauder-era (G - PG-13)."

As Petunia tried delicately to reapply her mascara, the pounding of the bass shook the bathroom mirror, causing her reflection to blur slightly. "Bloody music," she muttered.  
  
Really, it was too much. Her fiancé had talked her into coming, told her he had an entrée into the most exclusive disco east of Studio 54, and then, before she'd even had a chance to pull him onto the flashing dance floor or get him to buy her some brightly colored, obscenely priced cocktail, he'd disappeared with some blond ponce in a white suit and a pimp cane like that awful Huggybear's on that awful _Starsky and Hutch_ that Mum liked to watch so much.  
  
"To conduct some business," Vernon had yelled over the Donna Summer song.  
  
A likely story.  
  
The door to the bathroom opened and the music went from overwhelming to deafening, then back.  
  
A blonde woman entered. And it _was_ an entrance. She sidled in and stood just inside the door, sad eyes looking nowhere in particular. Dressed in a tight red top and long, slit skirt, holding what seemed to be a martini, she looked like something out of Vogue, and Petunia's heart stopped for a moment. _This_ was what she had come to this horrible place for, she realized in a flash: to be near people who were...  
  
Beautiful.  
  
The woman walked to the far end of the mirror, swaying slightly, the platform shoes extending her already long legs astonishingly. She placed her drink on the avocado-colored counter and opened her long sequined clutch. Absent-mindedly she pulled out a slender sliver of wood and tapped it to the edge of her martini, turning the clear drink gold. Not yellow. Not amber. Gold.  
  
"You're... a _witch_ ," Petunia gasped, and the woman looked up, blinking, as if noticing that she was there for the very first time.  
  
"And you," the woman replied in a low, tired voice, "are a Muggle...."  
  
Without thinking, Petunia nodded slowly, staring at this astonishing creature as she stowed away her wand.  
  
Her cheekbones high and covered in glitter, she bore a more than striking resemblance to that French actress Lily was always going on about, Catherine... Something-or-other. Her clothes bore no marks or labels, but Petunia was sure that this was not because they were no-name knock-offs, like the ones she was forced to wear, but because they were made to order. The top fit the woman like a second skin. The bra... There was no bra.  
  
She looked nothing like the flea-bitten crew that Lily seemed to hang out with.  
  
"Would you like a drink?" the witch asked, her mouth barely defeating ennui and gravity to curve upwards in a slight smile.  
  
Petunia looked down into the shimmering drink and felt a thrill up the back of her long neck. Lily had given her a potion once that had straightened her hair, and a salve that had done wonders for her acne. But that horrid Potter boy had also tricked her into eating a toffee that had left her clucking like a hen for hours. "What does it... do?"  
  
The blonde locked bottomless eyes onto hers. "Nothing terrible. It just... fills up what's empty," she murmured.  
  
"Ah." Petunia carefully took the glass from the woman's fingertips, astonished at her own daring. She lifted it up and sniffed. She could smell the gin, but also something strange and spicy.  
  
The woman's smile became more pronounced. "Cheers," she said.  
  
"Cheers." Petunia touched her lips to the glass and sipped. The drink was cold to her flesh but hot going down, and as soon as it hit her stomach a warmth spread through Petunia, exultant. "Oh!"  
  
"I told you," the witch said, leaning forward and sipping from the glass where it was, in Petunia's hand. "Mmmm."  
  
Petunia felt as if someone had ripped a shirt of chainmail off of her chest. She felt open and expansive, _wonderful._ She sipped at again, sighing as the liquid blossomed inside of her. "That's amazing," she said. She _giggled_.  
  
The blonde laughed. "Yes! Isn't it! Whenever Lucius brings me here, it's the only thing that keeps me from wanting to kill myself..." She drank again from the glass, still in Petunia's fingers.  
  
"You come here often?"  
  
The other woman sighed and leaned languorously against the sink. "Yes, all of the time. At first it was fun, seeing all of these... Being here in the Muggle world, the music, the bright lights. But all Lucius wants to do is _business_...." She pouted.  
  
"Yes," said Petunia sagely. "My fiancé's just the same."  
  
"He never wants to _dance_ ," the witch said. Then she looked at Petunia, a bemused smirk coming to her lips. "Would _you_ like to dance?"  
  
Dance? With another girl? The thought had never occurred to Petunia. Well, she and Lily had danced to Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy records, but... But she felt so _good_. And she did want to dance. She took another drink. "Sure. I'd love to." She started to walk towards the door.  
  
"No," the other woman said. "Too loud out there. Let's dance right here...' Long, porcelain fingers took hold of Petunia's hand, the one that wasn't holding the glass, and pulled her back.  
  
"In the _loo_?" Blissfully tipsy as she was, Petunia's sense of propriety had its limits.  
  
The witch executed a quick spin under Petunia's arm, her skirt flaring, her long, long legs... "Come on," she said, swinging her hips to the insistent beat of whatever song was rattling the mirror now.  
  
Again, Petunia laughed, took another swallow of the potion, whatever it was, and joined in, following the woman's lead.  
  
'Dancing Queen.' How appropriate.  
  
When was the last time she had felt this good? Not for a long time. She had used to laugh with Lily until they were both weeping, though not so often any more. Vernon was good husband material, dependable and upright, but not exactly...  
  
Fun. She was having fun. Still moving, she leaned in to take a sip from the glass, just as her new friend leaned in from other side. They bumped heads, knocked the martini glass out of Petunia's grasp, and it shattered on the counter, quickgold flowing down into crevices and onto the floor.  
  
But rather than feel sad, both women cackled and howled, gyrating around each other and settling in to a steady rendition of the Bump as the song segued into 'You Make Me Feel Like Dancing.'  
  
As they danced, women came and went, a pounding bass line announcing each exit or entrance. Most of the women paid no notice to the two whirling bacchantes--for heaven's sake, there were far more debauched things going on out on the dance floor if you wanted to gawk. Petunia felt transported, as if she were in a different world, breathless, heart pounding, and she didn't care that she was in a bathroom, and she didn't care that she was dancing with a woman. A very beautiful woman. She felt _wonderful_.  
  
One bint in a lime green jumpsuit did mutter "Get a room" as she walked past them, which set Petunia and her partner to giggling again, and, sweaty, they collapsed against each other, laughing uproariously into each other's hair.  
  
It was at this point that a slow song came on--BeeGees--and Petunia found herself swaying against her friend, feeling the woman's breath against her neck, feeling gooseflesh race down her arms and stomach and legs. She wrapped her arms around the other's slight, tight back, indulged her fingertips in the texture of the damp silk covering her partner's spine. Her ribs. Her hips.  
  
Lips pressed against Petunia's throat and she felt a moan spill out of her, releasing an unlocked desire that Petunia had had no idea she possessed. _If she's a vampire_ , Petunia thought giddily, _I hope she takes me, right now._  
  
Teeth nibbled at her long neck and Petunia gave a gasp, full of lust and shock, but it was just a nibble, alas and thank God, and kisses worked themselves up to her chin. Petunia could scarcely breathe.  
  
The beautiful face pulled back, eyes wide and cheeks pale. Petunia looked into those bottomless black eyes, ran her fingers through the fine-spun, white-blonde hair. Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to full, pale lips.  
  
Petunia had kissed before--Vernon and two or three other boys--and it had been very nice, though they all _would_ try to give her a squeeze or a pinch and get her to do something that just wasn't _done_. But she'd never been wrapped in an embrace like this, totally, where the lips were merely the conduit, the anchor point for a closeness that was almost more than physical.  
  
Their hips still swaying, their hands exploring gently, tongues and feet dancing around each other, they moved together. The song was just an excuse; it was their pulses that set the beat.  
  
Randomly, absurdly, she felt her partner's body begin to quiver; then she too was caught up in a moment of ecstatic release and the two of them groaned, their mouths still joined.  
  
Then, like a balloon that's slowly loosing its air, Petunia felt the glitter at the edge of her euphoria fade slightly. _No!_ she thought. Then, _I want some more of that drink...._  
  
Suddenly, she felt totally, pleasantly spent. She held her friend close, resting her head on the other's shoulder. "I don't even know your name."  
  
The witch gave a long sigh. "I'm Narcissa," she said. And then, with a certain haughty pride, she added, "Black."  
  
Petunia giggled. "We're both flowers," she laughed, still unable to lift her head from Narcissa's elegant shoulder. "My name's Petunia. Petunia Evans."  
  
The balloon kept leaking. Petunia wasn't sure she'd be able to stand if her lover hadn't been holding her up. And Narcissa was propped against Petunia...  
  
Suddenly the taller woman straightened. Off-balance, Petunia staggered to keep upright. "Evans?" Narcissa asked.  
  
Puzzled, Petunia nodded.  
  
" _Lily_ Evans's sister?" the other said with a hint of cold despair in her voice.  
  
Again, Petunia nodded. She was beginning to feel very cold.  
  
Narcissa gave a hollow laugh and a sneer marred her beautiful face. "Your sister... You look _nothing_ alike, but you both dance..." She laughed again, and a tear flowed down over the upturned, contemptuous lip.  
  
 _Be careful or your face'll get stuck that way_ , Petunia heard her mum joke.  
  
She felt cold. Empty.  
  
Without a word, Narcissa turned on her platform heels and strode unsteadily back towards the door.  
  
"Wait!" Petunia cried, stumbling after the other.  
  
But the witch pulled the door open, letting in the Thelma Houston, letting out herself.  
  
Petunia tried to catch up to her, but her legs felt leaden. She finally was able to get close enough to reach out to Narcissa Black, but she saw that the witch was walking towards that thin poufter in white. And Vernon.  
  
And shame coursed through her as she remembered herself, and what she had done. What that _witch_ had made her do.  
  
Vernon looked horrible. His light blue leisure suit was askew, his face was bright red, his eyes were pupil-less, and white powder dusted the top of his ridiculous walrus moustache.  
  
Petunia locked cold glares with Narcissa, who looked as if she were being forced into close proximity with something that smelled truly revolting.  
  
"Been amusing yourself, precious?" drawled the blond man-- _wizard_ , Petunia groaned inwardly.  
  
Her erstwhile playmate stared balefully. "Not particularly."  
  
 _FREAK_ , Petunia screamed in her mind.  
  
"P'tunia, dear," Vernon burbled, "Lucius here has the most 'mazing _stuff_..."  
  
Petunia didn't acknowledge the invaders from her sister's world. She grabbed her fiancé's hand. "Come along, Vernon. We're going home," she yelled over the roar of the music and the orgiastic crowd. She yanked him towards the front doors, his face a mask of astonishment as he stumbled along behind.  
  
 _We're going home_ , she thought, cold night air hitting her face, _and we're never_ _coming back...  
_

**Author's Note:**

> I wish it to be known that I loathed — and loathe — the Bee Gees.


End file.
